


Darwin's Dragon: A SHIELD Codex Short

by KhamanV



Series: SHIELD Codex [12]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, Series, sci fi, shield codex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 14:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5250956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KhamanV/pseuds/KhamanV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Asgard's near-destruction, deals need to be made and plans set into action before Thanos strikes again.  But that doesn't mean those preparations can't be a little fun.  In a fit of whimsy, Loki takes Fitz to a galactic arena to observe a title fight between mecha warrior and implacable beast.  But is that really all he's up to?</p><p>Hint: The answer is 'No.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darwin's Dragon: A SHIELD Codex Short

Darwin's Dragon: A SHIELD Codex Short

 

The crowd, itself strange and wild and worth staring at, lifted to its collective feet as the gigantic pilot-driven red mech thudded a broad steel foot down into the hardened earth of the galactic arena just shy of the loser's thick, veiny neck. Fitz had to crane to see over the enthusiastically shuddering shoulders of a broad being called a 'Badoon.' The Director had mentioned them before allowing this weird little field trip, and because of that mention and the story that had gone with it, Fitz decided he was absolutely not going to ask the figure to settle down so he could get a better look at the oddly bloodless post-battle carnage and cleanup. He leaned over the thinner shoulder of a 'Shi'ar' a moment later instead, peering around the ornately styled cap of black hair. Small feathers ran up the woman's neck and he tried to not stare at them like a gross tourist.

Next to him, the gray man with the flaring red tattoos along the entirety of his bared torso resettled on the filthy bench they shared. His boots scuffled the sticky floor beneath it. “A good fight, but not a great one.” The bald head turned to regard Fitz as he sat back down, thick fingers interlaced with solemnity. Drax's voice was as stoic as the rest of him and the eyes were steady where they nestled within more tattoos so fierce they seemed more like brands. “The beast was young and weak. A toy of a battle, meant to whet the appetite of the audience. No threat to the champion, that MAC. Not worth a bet, not yours, not mine.” He shifted again, now visibly uncomfortable. “Besides, I spent my coin on snacks.”

“That was a _young_ one?” Fitz winced. He didn't know the name of the creature, or the species, or really anything about it. Stories tall and rust-red, scaled in a way he'd never seen, he'd been impressed when a slight birdlike hand swung out to catch the somewhat smaller opposing mechanical warrior high on the shoulder. Nearly took the mech's head clean off, but the machine had recovered with a grapple. Only a piece of shoulder armor had been torn free to land with a clash against the steel and concrete arena walls. A minute later and the beast could still be heard yowling with offense from where it lay on the ground. “Good lord, what's a big one look like?”

“They are not taken for sport like this. They filter towards the darkest parts of a galaxy and swell and mate and then fade away again into star stuff. They are too large to be anything but themselves. Solar systems leave them alone. It is nature, just as it is nature that we also wage war and great battle and then make ridiculous sport of that sacred war with betting and candied treats.” Drax snorted, not disapprovingly. “The machine-man will not win forever. It is not  _nature_ . I stand with the beasts, those that have no choice but to honor the struggle of their own existence. Consider that, tiny human.”

Fitz stared at him for a moment before turning away. The big man treated him politely enough after Loki's quick introduction, even agreeably volunteering to be the one to keep him company at ringside while Loki did his thing, but there was no point in pushing matters. “But engineering – machinery – is how we push and break limits, you know? I put  _my_ faith in that.”

“A valuable thing, teeny ginger man.” A slow nod followed. “But for them making that machine down in that great arena, they think this only ever sport. This is not about survival for them and their wagers.” Drax grinned, broad and knowing and more than a little delighted. He looked abruptly at Fitz with a weird gleam in his eye. “For the beasts, it is  _always_ war. War is desperation and blood and victory. War is a need, fed by fury and fear and wielded by destroyers.”

Fitz swallowed, more than a little unnerved by Drax's verve on the topic of violence, and looked over his shoulder to try and find Loki somewhere in the thinner press up above. He wouldn't confide much to his human friends, just that his purpose here was necessarily dual – allow Fitz a chance to see one of these great galactic mech-fights they'd discussed a couple of times, and to make certain arrangements in the wake of an almost apocalyptic mess that had threatened Asgard. Coulson knew at least some of what was going on, but Coulson wasn't talking.

It took a moment while handlers scraped and cleared the stray rubble from the arena below, but Fitz finally spotted the tall man. Loki was staring calmly down into the face of a woman – the green one Fitz briefly saw on arrival via Rocket's separate ship – who was all but snarling up into his face. He sensed Drax examining him again. “Seems like business is going well.” Fitz cleared his throat.

“Gamora is possessed of a fierce and unstoppable heart. I am honored to call the wench a friend, despite all that she has been.”

Fitz grimaced on reflex. “Wench?”

“She is a daughter of Thanos. It is hard for me to put aside the words of well-honed hate, though she is... insistent that I try. So I do, though sometimes I falter. It is a process.” Drax grunted. “Your companion also is one of these. The bastard prince of chaos. Another tool of the warlord, another hateful weapon. We knew his name out here well. Murderer. Fiend. A black-hearted demo-”

“I get it!” Fitz passed a hand across his forehead, not really wanting to interrupt Drax although the man seemed insistent on going for a while in a similar vein if he didn't. “Really. Got the gist. We don't exactly forget everything on Earth, either. Just... that's not all the story, you know?”

Drax's eyes narrowed down at him. “Story? Like a child's lie?”

Fitz swallowed and reconsidered how to explain what he meant. Loki had managed a quick warning that metaphor wasn't going to go over that hot with this particular person. And in worst case, he'd mentioned to haul ass for the giant walking tree just outside and scream for further help. Fitz thought that was a joke. When he saw Groot, he realized it absolutely was not. “Well, uh. It's not where history ends, with the dark stuff people do. History keeps going, right? Then it turns around sometimes, changes what it all might mean. Gamora's your friend now. He's mine. Despite the past, because the future might be better with them alongside. You know?” He jutted his chin towards the pair where they were still arguing. Fitz got the glimpse of a red jacket approaching, that Quill guy. “So, do you know what they're up to?”

Drax's tight, considering face relaxed, apparently mollified with the explanation. “I am content to learn in due time.”

Fitz sighed and turned back towards the arena. They were starting a lightshow to vamp for time before the main bout. “I'm a titch more impatient than that.”

. . .

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're starting to spook the jerky vendor. People giving us looks. I don't want to get bounced. Besides, I got fifty units riding on the big game. That mech's gone undefeated all month, I could use an easy boost off  _that_ safe bet. Fuel costs, you know?” Quill approached the pair with his hands up, trying to not hunch defensively. He flinched when Gamora whirled on him. He relaxed slightly when he realized she didn't have her knives out. That was a start. “Okay, look, yeah, Rocket told me who we were meeting with-”

That was as far as he was going to get. Hotly, she said, “And you didn't  _warn me_ ?”

Quill shrugged, his hands still up. “Rocket said you'd probably flip out. Look, you  _know_ he's been running jobs for this guy. This isn't exactly the freshest news.” He jutted a thumb at the pale Asgardian, who seemed content to watch this new angle of the row from where he leaned against a rusting steel pylon. “Rocket doesn't ever cut us in on the profit, either, so-”

“Is that why you agreed to set me up for this? A paycheck, Quill?” Gamora rolled her eyes. “Predictable. You'll agree to anything if the check clears.”

“Well,  _any_ reliability can be a valuable feature.” Loki added this observation with a softly amused murmur.

“You're not involved in this particular conversation.” Gamora didn't look back at him. Her eyes narrowed further, dangerous lights twinkling in her pupils. “Quill, this isn't about  _money._ This is about Thanos. You are not prepared for that. You were barely prepared for Ronan. How we survived is still a gods-damned miracle, one we're not any closer to having answers for.” She shook her head. “And the costs of that victory are still due.”

“Okay? Loo-”

“Walk, Quill. This is between us, since I've been forced into it.” Gamora grinned up at him in an open warning, all bitter and white fangs in the dark green lips. She turned to set that almost feral look back onto Loki. “Family business.”

. . .

Loki watched that Quill all but slink away again, the affable but somewhat flighty human sharing a set of baffled shrugs with the hard-drinking mammal who'd set up shop at a different vendor. “A mite harsh. His nature and his heart are both good, if not exactly his wits fit to match.”

“You don't get to look into the hearts of others, Loki.” Gamora studied him, the snarling expression smoothing over into something chilly and considering. “You and I saw more than enough of that kind of judgment. It doesn't belong in our hands.”

“Or  _his_ .” The careful way he said it made plain who he meant – Thanos. “Yet here we are, despite his pronouncements. His estimations, and he a master tactician. That's worth remarking on. I fell away from his sight, Gamora, stumbled almost accidentally into that slight wisp of freedom I now hold though a series of painful but fortunate mistakes. And how are you here?”

“I walked away, aware and willing of my choice.” The white teeth were back and her voice was taunting. “You were enjoying your work at 'Father's' knee, even if you were goaded towards it. If you hadn't  _fallen_ , and more than once I note, would  _you_ have had the courage to do the same?”

Good shot. Loki smiled easily, acknowledging it. “I don't know. That's quite the problem, isn't it? But I did fall, after all. Then I got back up, and when I did, I walked. Willing and knowing of my choice. And later, change. If I want to play at justifications, I might think sooner or later I'd find a way to question my place even under the weight of the Titan's eye. But with the Mind Stone in his hand, that gem that for a time laid in mine, that's hard to know for certain.”

Something tightened in Gamora's face. “You tried to fight it. I remember.”

“I don't much care for being forced under the thumb of another. That was his mistake; those scant hours I was more aware of what was being done...” Loki couldn't keep his smile and the memory flickered across his face. She knew what that meant. She'd been there to see. “If he'd bargained plainly, yes, I suppose your ire would still have plenty of targets in me and we might well not be having this discussion. But in the end, I found in his 'bargain' a lie. When I knew at last I had that choice, I took it. Is that so different than your road?”

“Different enough.” Gamora's voice was grudging. She crossed her arms against herself, looking briefly away. “But a lot of roads can end up going to the same place. Fine. I'm listening.” The tightness came back. “Only listening.”

He tilted his head politely, taking his small victory with sedate grace. “I'll press that with first a small question, then, before I say what I will. Did the other one walk away as well. Nebula?”

Gamora shook her head. “Not exactly. And I don't know where she is, before you get to that. She fell from Ronan's ship, and I know she took his side against Thanos. She hates. I don't know that I'd call that a choice, Loki. A drive, not a choice. I... do think she's still alive. That's all I know at this time.” She glanced up as he studied her. “Yes, I've been collecting what intel I can. Figure that's part of why you showed up. All he has at his feet right now are those sisters from Asgard. Them alone. The few generals left are still scattered at his order, preparing for who knows what. I'll toss in something you didn't know for free, since I think you might care – Ronan killed Corvus.”

“Mm.” Loki considered that carefully. Corvus Glaive, Thanos's  _other_ hand, the strange and black-hooded alien commander that had often spoken for the warlord. He'd been the primary contact during Loki's incursion against Earth, virtually hovering, lurking at the edge of his mind and tethered there by a sceptered Stone's then-unbreakable call of mastery over himself. Vile Corvus and his plans, his urge to create a black and secret order at their lord's sole beck and call. 

Corvus and his bitter love of torture.

No great loss.

Something of that opinion must have shown on his face. He looked up to see Gamora smirk a little. “About what I thought. Now. Tell me what you've got in mind.”

“I need to hire you and your crew, specifically you. Two jobs. You won't like either one.”

“Explain.”

He did, if somewhat obliquely for now. A heist, and a simple delivery job. The problem was what the heist required, and what he intended to deliver. One Infinity Stone, and later, himself.

“Your plans are  _horrible.”_ Gamora's rich green skin was an ashy, translucent teal when he'd finished giving up what he would.

“I know!” He couldn't resist sounding delighted. They were, and they were the best he had. “In the end, it relies entirely on chaos, but that is ironically ever reliable. I've added something to the mix to make it a little easier for when the time comes, for what it's worth.”

Gamora frowned, still taking his mad ideas in. “Do tell.”

“Not now. Compartmentalized information.” He lifted a finger, not in a threat but in a lecturer's tone. “Let's just say the entire reason that particular stone is in position is by my hand alone, and when it needs changes position, that will be according to this old and now newly reused plan. When this happens, it has to happen tightly and in due and correct time – the unraveling comes later. Do you understand?”

“I understand. One hitch. All of this requires trusting you, Loki. I don't. I never will. I saw you.” Gamora's fingers tightened on her upper arms.

“No, you don't have to trust me in the least. It might be better if you didn't, if you assumed every act I'm about to take is as vile and untrustworthy as you fear. If you cling to anything, you can look at this much and know its shape for truth: I  _loathe_ Thanos. As much as you? I can't know that. I'll do anything to see him and his threat ended, not just for myself but for those few things I've learned again to care for. In this, yes, two roads go the same direction. Do we help each other or simply go for a collision at the nexus?”

“I hate you.” Gamora looked away. Her words were toneless. “I think it's why I like Quill, after all. He's an idiot. He's easy to be around, and you always know what he feels. Even bound to a bent knee, you were smart in ugly, awful ways. Arrogant. Cold. Do you dare think you're smarter than Thanos with this damnable plan of yours?”

“I don't.” Loki grinned when that drew her eye back to his face in what seemed like actual surprise. “No, I'm not what I was any longer. I'm not that monster. What I  _am_ , however, is desperate and terribly, dreadfully angry. That's my strength here. That's a war bound to come to that golden armored knee, one he might think he's ready for. But you cannot ever fully tame or know chaos. You can ride it, however, and that's  _my_ steed. Thanos calculates, he chose this brutal kind of order to enthrone himself. I will shatter it, in the hours he thinks he's won.”

Gamora continued to study his face, the tightness in her brows and the chill in her eyes telling him what he wanted. Unwilling, untrusting, but she believed him. That's what he needed, if nothing else. There were debts here in black space, and he wasn't going to pay them all today. “You bargain with Quill for the money end.” She smiled, lips thin with remaining dislike. “Probably get a better deal that way. I know Rocket's been deliberately underselling his own stories to the crew, but I also know he's got about five new pieces of flashy ordinance hidden on his own rig Quill doesn't know about. I know they cost the furry bastard dear. You can afford it.”

Loki could. More than she knew. Especially if the night's entertainment paid off. He inclined his head once more, painfully polite. “We'll finalize arrangements after the match, via inter-ship codeline. I'm bound to get my human companion back home safe, and by necessity, so is Rocket.”

“Fine. I'll tell Quill.”

. . .

Fitz looked up when Loki dropped onto the bench next to him, seeing the weariness come filtering back to the thin face. He seemed like he was always weary lately; up all hours working at something, pestering at Coulson, making connections with Asgard to conspire at who knew what. The near-loss of Asgard had hurt him in a way he didn't openly discuss with anyone in SHIELD. Really, he didn't have to. His face said more than enough. “So? You get what you need?”

It took a moment before Loki answered, the gray-green eyes flickering first to him and then to the openly curious Drax on the other side. “I did. A few more arrangements, and we're ready to begin.”

“Begin what, exactly?” Fitz shrugged at him.

“Surviving.” Loki allowed a small, tired smile at his friend's plain frustration. “That's all it is. One thin line between either everything is lost, or we survive. There is no longer a place in the grey. There's only the fight.”

Drax nodded, absurdly pleased with the answer. “We will be the beasts, then. When the time comes.”

Loki furrowed his brow in puzzlement at that, glancing at Fitz for an answer. He got a crystalline clear look of  _don't ask, please don't ask, oh God this guy is so weird._ “Well,” he managed at first. A thin smile came back, a genuine one that flashed familiar teeth in nothing at all like a sneer. “Am I in time for the main event?”

“You're actually looking forward to this?” Fitz jerked his thumb at the empty arena. Lights were starting to flicker along the enormous gateways that allowed the combatants entrance.

“Thor is deeply put out at his lack of attendance tonight. That alone adds a flair to the event, I might as well enjoy something else about it. Might even pretend it's not at all impressive, just to really dig it in.”

“Pretend?”

Loki arched an eyebrow as the announcer's system began to crackle into life. On the other side of Fitz, Drax began to clap hard, the sound booming as the rest of the audience began to rustle into fresh liveliness. “You did notice this particular event was sold out, yes? Don't ask how I made arrangements. It'll tarnish my reputation.”

Fitz stared blankly at him. “You have anything left to tarnish?”

Loki snickered, the weariness fading in favor of real amusement. “Hush.”

 . . .

_Ladies and gentlemen, honored individuals, esteemed guests, and synths of every world, welcome to Arcade! Tonight, our special headline title fight comes to an end even The Grandmaster cannot predict!_

_Tonight, long-time champions Wrecking Crew bring their joint-piloted silver and red titanium Mech Assault Centurion to the stage in one more battle to end all battles! Can they maintain their SIX WEEK undefeated streak?!_

A joyful roar came up from the audience in response. One great gate began to squeal open to reveal the freshly tuned-up and power-washed MAC once more. Eighty-five meters tall and painted up in tones of apple red and brilliant silver, Fitz's gaze crawled over the amazing thing as if his sight alone could eat it whole. Nominally bipedal and distantly humanoid, with titanium armor plates hiding a sealed engine core and enough weaponry to drop a dreadnaught personally, the mech thumped forward two steps to lift its arms, each one hundreds of tons in weight, in a perfect mimicry of a real warrior's adrenaline-driven  _BRING IT ON!_

_We hear you, Arcade! Spare some verve for his challenger!_

Boos filled the grand arena instead. Both Fitz and Loki turned to watch Drax laugh in delight, the sound of it belly-deep and wild. The Badoon in front of Fitz snapped around to glare at whoever dared to root for the heel, got one look at the grey man and his red tattoos, and then turned sedately forward as if at church instead.

Fitz began to blink rapidly as he grasped what that implied, suddenly deeply grateful Drax was on their side. Apparently Loki wasn't the only one with a reputation in this place.

_From the depths of the stars, from the blackness of unknowable sleep he stirs and is goaded to fight tonight for his life and his freedom! Tonight we see the King himself in a title bout! Machine versus beast! The Space Dragon awakens!_

_Tonight, Arcade, we present this massive event to you! Behold as he lurches forth!_

_**FIN!** _

 

_**FANG!** _

 

_**FOOOOOOOOM!** _

 

The roars of dislike grew louder, thundering, filling the arena only to falter at the immense answering roar from beyond the sealed gate at the other end of the arena. The one hundred meter tall door dented inward just a smidge as something equally grandiose smacked into it. Another lurch of whatever it was and the door opened before the arena's operators could winch it free.

_ It,  _ stepped through,  _ he,  _ a king of dragons indeed, a greenish-bronze angular creature equally as tall as the mech warrior that stood opposing him. The sloping triangular head pushed forward in an immediate lurch, enormous lizardine jaws winching open to reveal a slaughterhouse of fangs, each as tall as a human and sharp enough to shave the face of a planet. Fin Fang Foom's voice was again an insane, insensate roar pouring from a maw lit with something like fire and pressing wind, spines along his back arching in hostility and defiance at the MAC. Wings unfurled from his back and pulsed once, whipping stray dirt up from the tight-packed floor of the arena. There was nothing vestigial along the gleaming surface of the beast. Every scale, every talon was there for singular purpose. Survive. Hunt. Kill.

“The beast is here, and it knows only the fight!” Drax's roar of delight was almost equal to the monstrosity's.

“He is  _ freaking  _ me out!” hissed Fitz to Loki, as quietly as he could under the storm of noise filling the arena.

“He's also not  _ wrong _ !” hissed Loki back to him. Then he shrugged offhandedly. “Leastaways I hope he isn't.”

Fitz stared at him, realization dawning. “How much did you bet?”

“I don't gamble, Fitz. I play the odds, I don't ever  _ gamble. _ ”

Fitz grabbed his arm, not buying it for a second. “What did you do?!”

Loki started to grin as the towering beast rose aloft a set of bronze claws so finely scaled they seemed damascene in an outright threat that meant little to the mindless mech now entering a ready battler's pose. “Nothing. Though I figure I might come out of the night ahead.” The grin grew wider and more than a little feral.

Fin Fang Foom took the first strike as the mech's slower heft meant it was still preparing itself for a full response. The claws shrieked through the air and cut through the thick-wire arm structures, tearing apart titanium like newspaper. A roar of dismay came from the crowd at the immediate effectiveness of the beast's attack. The angular head dove in next, that brilliant, almost golden maw latching into the wounded area to taste metal and snapping sparks. They lit the thinner flesh of the beast's jaw from within, flickering white-hot as if he might breathe fire next.

Foom snapped his head back, shrieking with affront when the assault drew no real blood for him to feast on. The orange eyes, enormous and lit from within with an unnerving alien intelligence, narrowed into slits as he considered the thing set before him.

The MAC seemed to regather itself. Its pilots, kept safe somewhere else within the heart of the arena, set it on course to return a full assault. As best as it could with only one fully functioning arm. The other one tried to lift, its own weight tearing the last few 'tendons' of metal free only to crash it all to the arena floor.

Foom's next tremendous screech was one of insult when the mech's good arm came in low to connect thickly with the broad, dragonlike torso with all the force the powered fist could muster in the ten seconds it had taken to spin up. It paid immediately for its attempt, one clawed finger snapping forward to slice at the mech's own torso connections and nearly getting one of the armored power lines that went from the abdomen to the neck. The MAC pulled back at the last second, nearly overbalancing in the odd gravity of the arena.

Foom pressed his own assault, leaving the pilots no time to consider tactics. The maw gaped again as the beast swung in his tail in a wide-arced feint. The mech mostly dodged, air filling with the metallic scree as the razored tip left a scar in the lateral dorsal plates. It pushed forward, hoping for an opening only to realize the space dragon had used the feint to rebalance himself instead. Another gust of air filled the arena as the great wings flapped once, then again.

The great bronzed dragon came aloft for only a second before gravity commanded the situation once more, and he used it to his advantage. As his glide was interrupted, all his weight tilted forward to allow him to latch entirely on the mech's crumpling form.

The Badoon in front of Fitz gave away how  _ he'd  _ wagered the night's earnings with a low moan of utter horror. Drax's still-rising laughter was an echo of the storm below. Others around the odd, small group began to shrink away at the sound of it. Fitz realized he'd put both his hands on his face in a startled grasp, somewhere between awestruck and total dumbfoundedness.

Foom screamed in early triumph, his snout diving down to let his fangs rend and tear at the chest of the steel thing that dared to vex him. One panel peeled away, then another. The orange eyes peered down at something revealed there, a kind of massive third eye now staring back and beholding him plain.

The secondary fusion engine gave away its existence as it quickly spun up and fed its power into the chest-cavity beam, searing red gamma light pouring into Fin Fang Foom's face in an attempt to melt him free from where he grasped onto the prone mech.

The arena crowd burst into fresh cheers at the rally, seeing the scorching blackness spread across the smooth scales of the beast's face. Then the beam, short-lived and intense, winked out.

Foom blinked and lifted his blackened head to swivel it around, regarding the viewers as if he had only just bothered to acknowledge their existence. Perhaps he had. Then he shook his head sharply from side to side, letting the carbonized outer layer of his flesh fall free with a crackle. Beneath was pure, untouched bronze so fresh it glittered with striking iridescent greenness. He screamed again, full of vibrant ire and hunger to show how whole he truly was, and then the jaws buried themselves in the core of the MAC.

The sounds of the crowd died out, with even Drax now on his feet to study the beast's final moments of total victory. A complete rout, no hope left for the machine. He was quiet, too. Studious, even, as flashing white fangs gnawed through diamond-hard ceramics and neo-graphene wiring. One many-clawed hand lifted again to drape it across the MAC's broad red head, squeezing the nail tips into the titanium until the smooth helm began to distort under the steady pressure. Still the tearing noises, the rending of tempered steels, and the screech of tortured silver. Everything else was drowned out.

Fitz's hand was now across his mouth, strangling off a startled and profane word. He managed to tear his gaze away to see Loki still sitting next to him, hands calmly clasped together in his lap. His grin was manic, however, and he turned that jackal's smile on Fitz. He dropped his hand, the fingertips of it cold. “What were the odds you absolutely weren't playing?”

“Well. Six weeks of an undefeated streak, with almost all the Crew's winnings going into further upgrades in the mech to keep the streak going. Bettors were getting bored. Only group making money was the Crew itself, and they had just enough backing from Arcade to keep the catbird seat. The betting unions were pushing behind the scenes for good-looking underdogs, but nobody would bite. Enter the passing of a stray and wildly expensive rumor regarding a deal between the Grandmaster of Arcade and another fellow, this one called the Collector. One about a new acquisition guaranteed to liven up the field. Now.” Loki tapped a finger to his lips. “ _ I  _ had nothing to do with any of this. I'll pledge it not on my reputation, but on our friendship, just to prove my point. I was... lucky enough to catch wind of the rumor, however.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes as the obscene metal munching continued to fill the arena. “And?”

“Well, publicly, nobody knew what tonight's main event was truly going to be. And by now that underdog bet is a sucker's bet. So the odds of betting on the nature of the beast, to borrow good Drax's line? Mm.” Loki's grin somehow widened further. “Rocket is warming up the ship as we speak. Payout window opens in less than three minutes, I intend us to be out of here no later than about thirty seconds after that. Good enough?”

The engineer was pale all along his cheeks and his lip was bitten near through, not so worried now about the numerical odds of the fight itself, but about the much more immediate odds of one of them getting shanked on the way out for winning the night's pot. “Oh, my God.”

“You wanted to see the mech fights. You've now probably seen the one that's going to be a legend for decades, assuming we have those decades.” Loki stood up, his hand beckoning hurriedly.

Fitz's knees were rubbery inside his khakis. “I'm so glad I wore my good shoes. I can at least run in these.”

“Mhm. Let's get moving, people are getting shifty. Drax? Kindly clear a path.”

. . .

“Yanno, I've never heard Quill go from agony to delight in a second flat before.” Rocket slapped at his pilot readout, still making snickering noises through his long, furry muzzle. “First he thinks he loses the easiest bet of his life, then you casually offer him an advance payout that makes the d'ast last stupid big job look like a snack cake. He didn't even haggle witcha!”

Loki lounged in the seat behind Rocket, still grinning. Next to him, Fitz still had his head in his hands, shaking it slowly from side to side. They'd wound up fleeing like bandits when some sort of enormous bird-man stole a lucky glance at what was going on at the payout window. Not that much of a surprise. Bookies usually didn't let their hands shake like that. “A fine and fair deal by my reckoning. A pity Quill didn't listen to Gamora a bit more closely when she tried to warn him, but so long as he's happy, that's really all that counts.”

“Yeah, you get that contract firmed up, or she might force a renegotiation. With a knife. And maybe a bomb. And a bomb made of knives.”

“I am Groot.” The nod came with emphasis.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “Might do, but then, she  _ did _ tell me I was bound to deal with Quill for that aspect of the hire. Wouldn't really be sporting to renege on that, would it?”

“Buddy.” Rocket snickered again and glanced up at Groot in the co-pilot's seat. The black eyes stared sedately back. “You got a bad method of tryin' to make friends.”

Pale hands gestured dismissively. “I'm not unfair, Rocket. Well, I  _ can _ be, true. But it'll balance out by the time I'm done.” He smiled again, plain enough to be seen in the cockpit's reflection. He saw Rocket studying the expression, the question flickering in the beady eyes. “I'll be making a few arrangements for upgrades for his ship. Expensive ones. Not out of altruism, to be certain. But because it'll make the upcoming job easier.”

“I sure as hell ain't lookin' forward to it. But hey.” Rocket shrugged. “I'm in it this far.”

“I  _ am  _ Groot,” said Groot.

Fitz lifted his face out of his hands again, looking across to Loki. “What is the  _ deal _ with that?”

Groot turned around in his seat to look down at the engineer. “I. Am. Groot,” he explained patiently.

“What he said.” Loki stuck his elbow on the armrest, arching an eyebrow at Fitz.

“I want to go home.” Fitz dropped his face into his hands again before immediately coming back up. “Wait. Is space pizza a thing?”

“The fangin' futz is 'space pizza'?”

“Take that as a no.”

Rocket swiveled to check the kid out, putting it together. “He hungry? Cuz I'm hungry. Drinkin' requires food so ya can do more drinkin'. Look, we're right by a real nice planet with a tourist trap center, one of the best joints you're gonna find in this quadrant. Kinda place with clean silverware and everything.” He pointed a sharp fingernail at Loki, ignoring the aghast look from the human kid. “You're buying.” He swiveled back at the shrug of acceptance and started slapping at the trajectory controls.

“Has he been flying under the influence?”

“Fitz, I'm not actually sure he flies any other way.”

. . .

Hundreds of galactic newsfeeds and sports fatlines carried the story as their lead, sharing the best piece of backstage arena footage between them all. Furious, unfed, and possessed of savage vengeance, the great beast Fin Fang Foom tore open the last wall that stood between his cell and the freedom of open space, hurtling himself into the black with a final cry that ended in the silence of the void. His wings empowered by the invisible winds of space, he fled into the depths to nest and feed and then to sleep once more.

It was the best ratings sweep any of them had gained in months. Arcade, once rebuilt, stood to recoup all its losses and make new gains with the stalemate broken. New combatants were already jockeying for the Grandmaster's favor, using on the scene reporters as ad hoc applications and carousing in the still-pressurized halls.

Hidden away in the garishly-decorated sanctum of the Collective's private manse in the high roosts of skullish Knowhere, Tivan Tanaleer sipped at a glass of prohibited millennium wine held in a fur-gloved hand that hid the burns of an Infinity Stone's revenge. He frowned with displeasure.  _ Someone  _ had bet against the house. Someone had lucked into the private deal he'd made with Arcade's masters, and dipped his beak sharply into Tivan's winnings. He didn't know who. Didn't even have a hint. It boiled at his insides, the inability to collect this knowledge.

He swept to his feet and snapped off the vidfeeds with a dramatic flash of his other hand. Still sipping at his drink, he narrowed his eyes and studied the deceptively simple case and its treasure. The jewel of his private rooms. His voice was, as ever, strangely incoherent and elegant both. “You. I still hold you. One slipped free, others divert, dance, come together, then fade away once more. But you, oh Reality, fine-wrought aether, you still sit in my domain. And here you will remain, till Thanos and I make our deals. In that one, I may yet come out ahead.”

Tivan tipped his glass gently towards the web of free-floating redness that spun and reformed inside the faceted case, listening to the soft chime made when struck. Asgard's gift, trusted to his care by its aging king. In each drip, another reflection of what could change about everything the living could ever know.

What was one lost wager? Meaningless, after all. Reality could change, but the galaxy's covetous nature would not. Sooner or later, the house always won.

 

_ ~fin _

_ To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own. ~ Pacific Rim _

 

_ 11/20/15 MDS. All relevant rights remain in the hands of Marvel with no infringement intended. All realities are fair game. All half-mad demigods do whatever the hell they want. _

**Author's Note:**

> Way back in the first Codex, A Clear and Present Loki, I made an offhanded reference to the great mecha fights of Thor's childhood. A galactic event not unlike a monster truck rally where giant machines and great beasts punch each other in the face a lot. Can you blame me for wanting to write about one?
> 
> Fin Fang Foom's description is based on Adi Granov's artwork for the canceled Iron Man: Viva Las Vegas 2008 miniseries.
> 
> The Other = Corvus Glaive is a fan theory/headcanon that's been going around since the 2013 Infinity comics event introduced Thanos's 'Black Order' of generals. I'm not going to get into the nuts and bolts of that stuff, but my logic here is 'I'm not referring to that guy as The Other in character conversations because holy nuts, how unwieldy is that?'
> 
> The next full Codex is probably going to begin posting early 2016, with writing starting in December, depending on some stuff going on over here. Have a great holiday!


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